


Practice To Deceive

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 19:00:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17330603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When an enterprising set of adversaries decide to use a different tactic to undermine and ultimately break up the team, will they be successful?  In the more relaxed atmosphere of their home base, will the guys be alert enough to catch on in time, or will they buy the con and allow themselves to be turned against each other, putting them all at risk?  An overdose of testosterone, along with an embarrassing misperception by the usually astute Craig Garrison, muddies the waters and leads to a showdown that gives the villagers plenty to talk about in the days to come.





	Practice To Deceive

The village was a small, rather out of the way place with few visitors, other than a carload of day-trippers passing through every now and again, and any newcomers naturally stood out. In any case, the two young women temporarily occupying the hire cottage next to the pub would have stood out pretty much anywhere they went. Both were extremely attractive, well-dressed, articulate and friendly, Marina a sleek strawberry blonde, Diane with her raven hair and a beauty mark just to the right of her upper lip. Writer and landscape/wildlife photographer, they were, or so they put the word about, rusticating after a lengthy job, before they took on their next project, a series of articles on the flora and fauna of Somerset. An interesting enough occupation, each of them, but when anyone attempted to discuss either, they were laughingly put off with the comment, "we're on vacation. Work is the LAST thing we want to be discussing!"

A few of the locals made a play, but it soon became apparent that the few younger able-bodied men in the village didn't appeal. That was NOT the case when Garrison and his team of wild-card cons marched into the Pub, loud and boisterous, buying drinks, celebrating the improbable success of their latest mission. The women immediately took a long look at the guys, cast a brief glance at each other, and set out to make their acquaintance, and everything proceeded swimmingly. At least, at first.

For the neutral observer, it would have been interesting, if somewhat puzzling, trying to determine which woman really favored which man, for the two seemed to be taste-testing all of them, including the lieutenant, rather to his discomfort. The odd thing was, the man who seemed to be at the top of Marina's chart, well, then he wasn't, and another had taken his place, and then another switch, then another. The same with Diane, and while things started out congenially enough, everyone comfortable with the game, (other than Garrison, and no one counted him, knowing his determination to be the proper officer type), some of the darker emotions slowly started to come into play. 

If you watched carefully, you could have seen Marina conversing happily with Chief one minute, then later appearing to cast fearful glances back at him while she leaned into Casino, then moving to put herself in a sheltered position next to the tall Italian con man, causing Actor to slightly frown as he looked over at the other men.

You would have seen Diane conversing with Garrison with obvious pleasure and growing fondness, then suddenly switching to Actor, giving sideways glances back to the officer; then later her, then Actor whispering something to Goniff, causing him to pull away with the tall Italian for a quiet, very private chat in the corner, then the two men disappearing entirely for awhile.

If you were sensitive to changes in the atmosphere, you would have felt the rising tension, the indications that trouble was on the way. And you would have seen other things, other interactions, that both fascinated you, and made you want to get out of range before it all hit the fan.

Unfortunately, you would have probably been the only one. Well, you and any other particularly astute observers, of whom there weren't many, other than the very few females in the vicinity. Alice Miller and Sheila Riley, along with the barmaids, Nellie and Josie, were starting to look worried and more than a little apprehensive, and Sheila, wife to the local doctor, made a mental note to check the clinic's supply of bandages and antiseptic and sutures when she got back home, anticipating a future need.

The male participants of the display - Garrison and his men - were strangely oblivious, too caught up in the events to even see, much less understand what was going on. All they knew was they weren't quite so much in charity with their team mates as they usually were, ever decreasingly so as the days and nights went by.

For a group of men so naturally endowed with a sense of self-preservation, so well trained to be aware of events, of their surroundings, it really was extraordinary. Perhaps it was because they were on their own turf and not on a mission. Perhaps the fact that these were women, pretty, young, civilian English women at that, led them into a false sense of security. Perhaps it was hormonal; that certainly was a possibility.

A word here, a touch there, a quick glance to one of the other men, apprehension at first, later in the game, even a touch of fear, a hint of tears, a slight pretense of jealousy, a little moral indignation. All played their part in the rising suspicion and anger driving the men apart, tearing at the seams of friendship and trust that bound them together. All together, it was a situation that bode ill for the team's success, even their survival, if they got called out on a mission with things being in their current condition.

Nights at the Mansion were increasingly tense, with sniping and snarling and accusations flying, and tempers flaring. Chief's usual stoic impassivity was returning to that early-on sullen look, and his blade was rarely out of his hand. Casino was more snarly and antagonistic than usual, out of sorts with everyone, and Goniff seemed to have developed a nervous twitch at the corner of his eye, along with having lost his inclination toward mischief or cheating at solitaire. Actor had retreated to his pipe, solitary, superior, aloof in his disdain for the whole lot of them, including Garrison. Maybe Garrison more than the rest.

And Garrison? Nevermind his growing exasperation with Casino and Chief, his utter frustration with Goniff. He and Actor, his second in command, seemed to have developed a communication problem. Well, what else could you call it, when the officer felt a strong urge to see just how hard that aristocratic jaw was and how well it could stand up to his fist, rather than discussing what the escalating situation in Bavaria might mean for them?

The reason for all that? None of them had a clue, or took much time thinking about it, all too busy taking their own turn in the ongoing pissing contest. The atmosphere was getting exceedingly ripe, to say the least, enough even Sergeant Major Gil Rawlins and his men were walking on eggshells.

Til the night at the pub when Casino looked up at just the right moment, to see something he'd never expected to see, hadn't seen, or at least hadn't noticed, before. No, he wasn't looking at Marina, though you might have expected that, since she was sitting right beside him, leaning into him just a little as if seeking his protection.

Marina had just reluctantly imparted her tale of Chief having gotten a little more friendly than she'd wanted, even after her protests, almost to the point of leaving bruises, and about Actor and Goniff both having hands that roamed more than acceptable despite her requests that they not, and Casino had felt a surge of protectiveness, as well as the heat of anger building at that.

But somehow, his attention was now drawn to Diane, seated across the table, to see that little gleam of satisfaction, that slight twitch of her lips at the obvious discord between Garrison and Actor, both of them tight-faced and Garrison showing a sign of unexpected temper, and Goniff just looking utterly frustrated, like he wanted to smack both of them upside the head. 

Suddenly on guard, sensing danger where he'd never expected to find it, he watched from below lowered eyelids as carefully as if he were on a mission across the Channel, to see Diane give Marina a slight look, a sign of her satisfaction. The dark haired beauty had then turned her attention, first to Chief, who was soon seething with anger. Then she shifted to give a few quiet words to Goniff. Casino watched as a flash of hurt showed in those blue eyes as their pickpocket glanced at Garrison, then at Actor, before they turned impassive once again as the smaller man seemed to withdraw, lose himself in his glass, and Casino felt, more than saw, the two women prepare for whatever they had planned next. As Marina leaned into him once again, began her whispering once more, he recognized it for what it was, realized {"Shit!!! We're being played!"}

He started to say something, but a hard fist to his mouth from Chief put an end to that thought. Only when they had fought to more or less a stand-still, only when Garrison had shouted himself hoarse, did the fighting stop, and the sullen crew trooped back to the Mansion and to an early lights-out. And only after lights-out, only after Casino heard the usual night-sounds that told him his teammates were asleep, had he pulled himself out that library window, the one he'd used plenty of times with the guys to head down to the Pub. 

Now his destination wasn't The Doves, it was to a small cottage on the edge of the village. It was dark and silent, as he'd expected it to be, the owner off dealing with some annoyance up in London, but it had what he was looking for - a telephone that for sure hadn't been tapped. And yeah, the place was locked up, but Meghada had showed each of them where the keys were, a long time ago, along with a list of contact numbers. Funny, now that he had the clarity to think about it, that Meghada had been called away right before the two visitors had arrived, had been kept in London during their whole visit. {"Yeah, real damned funny!"} he snarled to himself.

Simmering with residual anger, his worry overrode even his anger. This had the feel of something more than two bitches playing games, and for that, he wanted a weapon better suited than his fists. No, he'd not take his fists to a woman, not in the general run of things anyway. No, he was intending to aim something a hell of a lot more dangerous at those two, and anyone else involved. He was intending to sic a Dragon on the whole damned lot of them! 

***  
It had been a long, dreary day for Major Kevin Richards, and an unproductive one to boot. Those two new junior officers, Jennings and Sawyer, who had transferred in to his division recently in answer to his request for reinforcements, were likely to drive him mad, him and everyone else in HQ. They'd come in, arrogant and cock-sure of themselves, with strong, if uninformed, opinions on just about everything, much of which was none of their business in the first place. In addition, they were highly competetive, not just with everyone else but even with each other, even though they were supposed to be old friends.

Kevin Richards had spent much of the afternoon listening to their opinions, their complaints, their arguments and he was more than a little fed up. He'd prefer to be out doing something, anything to end this damned war, not sitting in meetings trying to convince grown men to get with the bloody program instead of engaging in jurisdictional disputes! And not just disputes about relative duties and responsibilities and access to information, but even their new offices! 

Really???! They'd actually measured the square footage of their respective offices and were arguing whether the larger space of one made up for the lack of a window, or whether the smaller space WITH a window was more desirable? And who best deserved which???? 

He'd finally countered their arguments with a calm observation that he had two spare broom closets he could allocate them instead, which shut them up, at least for now.

Even as short-handed as he was, he was severely tempted to send them back to where they'd come from. Of course, if he did that, he could put paid to any chance he had of replacing them in the near future. Still, it might be worth it. He silently wondered if their previous commander would be WILLING to take them back, or if that worthy had heaved a sigh of relief and lifted a self-congratulatory glass as the two had departed for their next assignment.

He'd come back to his flat, decided since his pantry was empty (except for the remains of a box of stale crackers that the mice had evidently been making themself free with), and he was too tired to go back out, he'd forget about dinner, make himself content with a stiff drink and and a somewhat-early bed. He'd not even had the energy to wish for sweet dreams before he turned out the light

Just as well, probably; he didn't get any dreams, sweet or otherwise. What he did get, about two hours after he drifted into an uneasy sleep, was a visitor perched cross-legged on the end of his bed, one who made his very blood chill with a quiet, strangely ominous, "good evening, Kevin. Nice choice of pajamas. Blue really is your color, particularly that shade." He knew then that however bad his day had been, it wouldn't even BEGIN to compare to how bad his night was going to be!

Major Kevin Richards was stern, nay, even icy in his anger, as he pulled off those blue pajamas (a medium blue-grey, offset with a burgundy piping - as Meghada noted, very nice with his coloring), and put his uniform back on in preparation for returning to the office, no matter it was still in the wee hours of the morning. This had to be dealt with and quickly, and besides, maybe he could grab a fast breakfast in that workingman's eatery a few blocks from HQ, the one that pretty much stayed open 24-7 for the swing shifts. It was bound to be better than whatever the Commissary was dishing up, and he was going to need his strength for the long, difficult day ahead.

He hadn't wanted to believe the story put in front of him, but the evidence was sound and the source impeccable. Actually the source was thoroughly pissed off, and he could hardly cast blame for that. She was territorial as hell, he knew that, had a vested interest on a variety of levels. Then, there was the war effort and all - though he thought that came pretty far down her list as to why she was so put out. No, for her, this was deeply personal.

Yes, he was angry as well, of course, though his reasons perhaps were ordered rather differently as far as most important. Though he was more than willing to admit he was also relieved that, if she was THAT furious, at least it wasn't at him; he'd experienced being on the receiving end of that icy fury a time or two and hadn't relished it. AND, of course, he was relieved that she had come to him to help resolve the situation, rather than taking care of it herself entirely. That many bodies would be noticeable, or, as he rather suspected, that many missing individuals would be.

{"Would have tied up the military police for ever so long, all to no avail, since I imagine she's as efficient in that regard as she is in all others. No, no sense keeping the police from their other tasks."} 

This would work better, him handling a portion officially, her handling the other, well, somewhat less officially. She assured him she would keep the blood loss to a relative minimum; he figured he'd believe that when he saw it. Her intentions might be good but she really WAS pissed! Heaven help them if those she intended to deal with angered her any further!

Jennings and Sawyer - they'd been brought to his office, since they'd been assigned in his chain of command {"Perhaps next time I request reinforcements I need to be more specific as to the requirements! No one with entrepreneurial aspirations, no one who can't keep their mind focused on the ASSIGNED job at hand, no out and out idiots.}. He wondered how much that would cut down on the already thin potential replacement pool. 

He heard them out, and then firmly rejected their smugly delivered reasoning. They'd looked at each other in sheer disbelief.

Obviously they'd thought he was hard of hearing, or lacking in understanding, as they then proceeded to tell him the same thing all over again - how, when they'd arrived, they'd heard about that ridiculous idea of using convicts in operational field teams, had heard about the team called Garrison's Gorillas. How they had decided as their first official (well, perhaps not so official) act on behalf of their new division, they'd see if they couldn't rid the military of that blight on the establishment. Oh, not to the neglect of their regular duties, of course; purely as a side-venture. And nothing violent, of course, just a bit of cunning to reveal the men for what they truly were, to give them enough rope to truly hang themselves.

How they thought it inconceivable, truly rather reprehensible that it had been left to them, the newcomers, to actually SEE the problem for what it was, to deal with the situation. How it was surely impossible that anyone in the chain of command would have any objections to being rid of such an embarrassment.

Well, yes, they'd gotten two of the female field operatives to assist, but surely, that's what the female operatives were for, and it shouldn't put the women out of rotation more than a couple of weeks. Those two particular operatives had the reputation of being quite efficient, not to mention overwhelmingly effective.

Why, they'd even managed to get one of the division chiefs to find a way to get the only possible impediment, some ex-contract agent with some foolish code name, Ice Dragon or something like that, out of the picture til the job was done, supposedly with some special training assignment for rookie agents. Seems the old retired agent had an inexplicable attachment to Garrison and his men and might try to intervene. No, they hadn't bothered to pull the ex-agent's file; what would be the sense in that? Someone retired from active service would hardly be of any interest, any value to anyone, now would they? Just, as they said, a possible nuisance, interferring in the project.

He'd listened to them, this second time around, heard all their protestations, their self-justifications, their accusations. He'd looked at them, wondering why he'd never realized just how utterly stupid and dense they really were. {"I am beginning to think Garrison and Meghada are right; the reason we haven't won this blasted war yet isn't because of Hitler and Mussolini and all the others; it's idiots like this not tending to their proper business!"}. Part of him was tempted to just LET the Dragon deal with them, but his sense of duty overcame his inclinations.

He heaved a deep, frustrated sigh.

"The thing is, gentlemen, this isn't ABOUT Lieutenant Garrison and his team. This is about YOU. About the irresponsible wasting of Allied resources. How many hours have you spent in this foolishness? How much of that time could have been spent shortening the duration of this war? You have enlisted other operatives in your meddling attempts to discredit the Lieutenant and his men, indeed to break up that team, causing those operatives to neglect THEIR own duties in the meantime. And while I'll admit having the Dragon help with training the rookies might actually prove beneficial, let's be frank - that was NOT your intent.

"No, I do not need to hear again your opinions on the wisdom of the program that brought that team into existence. It wasn't your decision then, it is not your decision now. That team is a resource, a valuable resource, as they've proven time and time again. I don't care that you don't like the idea, that you don't like them, though it seems you've never even crossed paths. It is not necessary that you, or anyone else, like them. It IS necessary that you and anyone else not impede their work, not hinder the war effort for your personal sense of propriety and misplaced sense of outrage!"

Richards might not be able to get that point across to some of his fellow officers, those of like or greater rank, but had no hesitation in laying it out for these subordinates.

"Basically, as I see it, you have engaged in willing sabotage against a military 'weapon', for that is exactly what Lieutenat Garrison and his team represent, a weapon against our enemies. In my eyes, your actions bear a striked similarity to tampering with one of our aircraft, or our long-range artillary, or our supply lines to reduce, even destroy their efficiency. I am leaving it to the military lawyers to work all that out, but I assure you, they WILL hear my point of view as I certainly intend to express it quite firmly. In the meantime, gentlemen, you will find a contingent of MP's awaiting you outside; I believe they have quarters waiting for you til the lawyers find time to make their inquiries. Dismissed!"

Major Richards was in no mood for their protestations. That they were shocked at his stance, his actions, only proved in his mind that they were indeed idiots, totally unfit for their duties.

{"Well, at least that settles the question about who gets which office,"} he found himself thinking, {"thank God for small favors."}

***

"Marina and Diane, should I ask about them?" Garrison cautiously inquired of the redhead accepting a drink from a cautiously silent Jake at the now-empty bar, a bar just as empty as the pub itself. He noted that Jake automatically poured a double, and from an unmarked bottle taken from under the bar, not the usual from the racks on the wall.

Meghada had entered the pub like a hungry predator, strong, silent, gold-brown eyes immediately picking out her prey seated at the table sharing a friendly drink with Garrison, gently and every so carefully spewing their poison, though in the most ladylike manner. He knew the precise moment when the two women spotted her, saw she was headed for them. Obviously she was not completely unknown to them; well, if they were stationed out of HQ, that made sense.

He'd never realized how much makeup the two women wore, til all natural color faded from their skin, the rouge and lipstick and eye makeup making them now look like poorly prepared corpses. They obviously had not been expecting her, thinking that bit of cobbled-together business in London would have kept her occupied for awhile longer, til they were finished and gone anyway. Why they thought that would have protected them later, he couldn't imagine, but obviously they were both rather short-sighted to have allowed themselves to be embroiled in this in the first place.

"Hello, Diane, Marina. It's been awhile. Lyon, wasn't it, or perhaps Strasbourg?" Her husky voice was a cross between a purr and a snarl, and it sent a chill down the spine of everyone within earshot. You could have heard a pin drop, and it seemed every man in the place was holding his breath. Well, until she lifted her eyes and took a slow look around, and suddenly every man, except for Jake and Garrison, remembered they needed to be somewhere else. There hadn't been many, only five or six others, but now there was only the bartender and the American officer.

When the room had emptied, she returned her gaze to the newcomers.

"Ladies, I'm shocked, appalled even. It seems you've been setting snares on my home ground, hunting on my turf. Do I REALLY have to post 'No Trespassing' signs around my territory? Perhaps place my brand on those I have a care for? Maybe a small dragon in the center of their foreheads? I wouldn't have thought that necessary, not for two such intelligent women as yourselves."

She smiled slightly, that smile involving only her lips, her cold eyes totally focused on the two looking up at her with total horror.

"Now, just what should the signs say, hmmm? 'Trespassers Will Be Shot'? That seems a little too quick and neat, don't you think, for such a serious offense? Surely we can do better than that. Oh, just what would be appropriate?? Perhaps we should discuss that in private, hmm?? Come along now; let's do just that!"

Neither of the men had any idea what transpired in the storeroom of the Pub, where Meghada had dragged, umm, strongly urged both women, them protesting in vain, into a more private area, "for just a little chat, darlings!".

Garrison only knew that, when returning to the main room on their very hurried run out and their abrupt departure, presumably to collect their things from the hire cottage and then off for parts unknown, both of the extremely attractive, now extremely haggard-looking women looked like they had seen their worst fears come to life. There was a distinct odor that indicated at least one of them had lost control of their bladder, so he figured the Dragon must have been on the top of her game. Well, considering the rather desperate whimper he'd heard on their way out, that was rather obvious.

"They decided they had someplace else to be, Craig. In fact, I do believe, after I reminded them that it was the Axis powers who were considered the enemies, not the Allied Special Forces and Special Ops teams, they have decided to restrict their quite obvious talents to furthering the war effort along THOSE lines, as they had been doing before they were coaxed into other, more questionable, channels. I believe they will think twice, even three times before accepting such an assignment again."

Meghada had a calm look on her face, but there was something roiling under the surface, and her eyes had taken on that odd glitter that almost made them seem as if the gold-brown was swirling around in patterns. Garrison always found that fascinating to watch; he was also always unbelievably relieved to know it wasn't HE who'd started that odd display into motion.

"The guys? How are they taking this by now?" she asked, taking a seat at the table across from Garrison, taking a sip from her glass. The last she had seen, very early that morning when she'd made her first visit to the Mansion since she'd been called away to London on that red herring of a request to teach a bunch of rookies the basics, they'd been one sorry sight.

She and Garrison had decided this was one confrontation the team probably didn't need to be involved in. Neither wanted the women to think they could call on any of them to be their 'savior', though the mood in the Common Room hadn't indicated any inclination in that direction, to be sure.

Garrison snorted, "they're pissed as hell, even more embarrassed at having been conned by those two, and, although I've not heard any apologies, either being given or accepted, I imagine they are feeling more than a little guilty about the damage they did to each other on any number of levels."

Well, Garrison couldn't really blame them for the lack of apologies; he'd only managed one himself so far, and knew he had others still to deal with. If nothing else, he was the team leader; he should have spotted the con right at the beginning, but he hadn't.

Garrison felt more than a little like a fool himself. Diane had, it turned out, been trying to set the scene for Garrison and Actor as rivals for her favors, with Goniff to be the sly intermediary for each but seeming to go out of his way to cause trouble, mischief and misunderstandings at each turn, resulting in the little pickpocket seeming to be both the villain and the pawn all the way around, ending up with everyone angry at him and each other. Almost Shakespearean, in fact, that part of the illusion, never mind Goniff had mostly been wondering just what the hell was going on, and why Garrison seemed to be so pissed at him and so enthralled with watching Actor all of a sudden!

From Garrison's own personal (very personal!) perspective, that wasn't what he was seeing, and that only added to the general confusion. As it was, it was Garrison misinterpreting what he was being shown, being told, that had caused his illogical, overly emotional reaction, one that Diane and Marina had watched at first in satisfaction, then, with increasing bewilderment. Luckily, the two seemed to put his behavior down to a leader being irate at being challenged in the first place, seeing his team members fighting amongst themselves, not for what it really was.

He ruefully wondered just how bad it could have gotten if either of the woman had guessed the truth of some of the less obvious interpersonal relationships involved.

Meghada gave a quick bark of amusement, drawing his attention back to the table, "testosterone poisoning; always such a lovely sight."

Then she got more serious, "and you and Goniff? You've made your way through this mess alright?" All of the men were vulnerable on at least one level, some on more than one, but none so much as Garrison and his pickpocket. If the culprits had caused permanent damage there, affecting her laddie and the unexpected, yet most welcome addition to the cottage, she'd have to rethink her restrained response. Hell, if they'd caused permanent damage, she was going to roast the whole bloody lot of them, never mind what Kevin Richards wanted!

Garrison's jaw clenched, and he felt a flush come to his face, but he nodded, "thankfully! I can't believe I could have listened to that line that Diane was hinting at, much less totally misinterpreted what she WAS hinting at!" He flushed again, at just how far his misreading of the situation had led him.

"Well, that's been dealt with," he continued. "After Casino finally unloaded last night, told us what he'd figured out, what you'd confirmed, it got a little loud. There were more than a few awkward moments."

He shuddered at the memory. {"I'm lucky Goniff didn't risk his hands and just take a swing at me!! And not just him; Actor just might have as well, if he'd realized at that moment just what I had been thinking, what I thought was going on - him making a move on Goniff just for spite because I yelled at him for dropping the ball over that femme fatale in Geneva; Goniff responding, not because he was genuinely interested, but because he was fed up with me, or maybe just to make me jealous!"}. Frankly, he wasn't sure which of the two would end up being more mortified at the very idea; he thought it would probably be a toss-up! And how insecure did that make him, that that would be his first thought, not that he should be jealous over one of the women??!

Well, he'd already heard plenty from Goniff, and he thought Actor would come out a far second in the lecture Garrison was sure he'd be getting from THAT worthy, no matter HOW the con man saw things. Yes, Actor had a remarkably extensive vocabulary, but Goniff did have a certain way with words, even if Garrison didn't understand a good half of them, though he was becoming more accustomed to Cockney cant as time went by.

He gave a little huff of amusement, remembering the horrified, then totally indignant look in Goniff's eyes when the Englishman had suddenly realized the truth of the matter, what conclusion Garrison had come to. He remembered how his resident pickpocket had reacted, leaping up from his seat and aggressively chivying him into the next room over, rather like a rat terrier intent on his task, backing him into a corner, one firm hand in the center of Garrison's chest just to make sure he didn't go anywhere while, as Goniff put it, "we 'ave ourselves a little conversation, ei?!".

Garrison didn't know if he could really have called that a 'conversation', being as how the words were pretty much all on one side, starting with a disgruntled declaration given in no uncertain terms.

"Ain't ruddy well interested in Actor, and 'e sure as 'ell aint interested in me!!! Are you out of your ruddy mind, Craig??! Just w'at does it take . . .??!!!" The encounter had left the both of them rather gasping for breath, and deeply regretting the presence of the others so close at hand. Garrison ran his thumb over his slightly swollen lips, a slight smile causing them to curve at the memory.

Garrison admitted now to Meghada, "Goniff wasn't shy about backing me into a corner, thankfully in private! Sure as hell wasn't shy about telling me a few home truths, even though I didn't understand half of it, since it was in that Cockney cant he drops into when he's really bent out of shape. Just like you, when you lapse into Celtic; I may not understand the words, but I get the message right enough. It was enough to make me get over my own blind take on what was happening, and realize Casino was right, we were being conned, but good! God knows how involved they intended to make the whole thing before they were finished."

Garrison paused, not sure he wanted the answer to his question but driven to ask, "and the ones behind this? What about them? Do we just hope they back off and not try something else? Who knows what would have happened if we were sent out on a job before it all got resolved, with the guys at each other's throats and me acting like a damned fool! Meghada, if we can't trust one another, if someone can put us at such odds with each other . . ." He couldn't go on, but from the look on her face, he didn't have to. She understood, quite well, and no matter how infuriated he was, she was at least a few steps beyond.

He watched her face carefully. Sometimes her resolution to a problem, a threat, wasn't exactly the same as his might have been, though usually quite effective, frequently quite final. That was bothering him less and less these days, and he hadn't figured out if he should be worried about that or not.

A grim smile crossed her face. "Not so surprisingly, Kevin Richards is less than pleased; in fact, he is royally pissed. Seems actively interferring with one of the teams COULD be considered sabotage, and he is pursuing the case exactly as that. The ones who came up with this nonsense are currently in the brig, awaiting the arrival of their military lawyers; I understand those lawyers are quite busy, though, so it might be some time before they even get their initial interviews. No one thought to mark the case as 'Priority', you see. Seems they'd already pissed Kevin off on other matters, they're in his direct chain of command, and he's in no hurry to give them any relief. We'll be keeping an eye on things, Craig; will let things ride out their normal course for now. Of course, should that prove inadequate . . ." and there was that look again, the one that fascinated him, made him glad it wasn't HIM who brought it on.

"So, we can get back to business," he said with some relief.

"Aye, back to the business at hand. It might not be safe, but it's a hell of a lot more straightforward, don't you think??!"

He shook his head and let out a deep sigh, "if everyone up at HQ and everywhere else just stuck to the job, we could maybe get this damned war over and done with!"

"Yes, well, until that happens, I was wondering - do you and Goniff have plans for the evening? Oh, and the rest of the guys too, of course. I was thinking about spending some time in the kitchen after I leave here. Cooking relaxes me, helps me de-stress, and I need it after this mess, and I have to drive back up to London tomorrow and finish the last couple of days of that class for the toddlers; I do hate to leave them hanging, they really are trying so hard. The guys could join us for supper, then maybe, afterwards, while the three of them head to the Pub . . ." and the warm, slightly amused smile on her face met the eagerness in his own.

"I think that can be arranged, Meghada. Don't forget dessert," he teased. "You know Goniff will expect dessert."

She laughed, "you mean with dinner, or as a late night snack? I was thinking perhaps a nice batch of sponge cakes with cream? And I was able to acquire a bit more of that raspberry sauce he took such a fancy to."

Garrison's slightly, but only slightly, embarrassed grin was a delight to see, after all the frowns and worried looks she'd seen on his face earlier.

"Maybe both with dinner and after? But . . . raspberry sauce? Not treacle?" {"I remember she ruled the raspberry sauce out in favor of treacle before, citing the cleanup mostly. Wonder what made her change her mind? Still bound to leave stains on the sheets, and there's the matter of all those tiny seeds."}

"I think I can make enough for both. And yes, raspberry sauce. The jars I just got from Haven are from the new seedless raspberries, you know. And since I got Old Howie to run a clothesline in the garden, not EVERYTHING has to go to Mrs. Wilson, so that takes care of the sheets." The lengths to which she'd go to bring a smile to Goniff's face so far had met no boundaries, though it might take her awhile to figure out the logistics.

Her look of smug satisfaction brought the first real laugh to Craig Garrison that he'd given since this whole mess began. His personal life might be increasingly complicated, but he wouldn't trade it for anything else.

Epilogue:

Major Kevin Richards was having one of those rare moments of exquisitely malicious payback. He rationed those, realized they were not a very attractive trait in an officer and a gentleman, but sometimes he indulged himself. After the experience of waking up to an snarling Dragon seated at the foot of his bed, he thought he rather deserved a bit of indulgence.

Of course, to the outside eye, it merely looked like he was hosting two lovely ladies to a nice lunch in the Guest Dining Room of his private club. But he knew better, and more to the point, his two guests knew better. They were visibly ill at ease, much to his inward satisfaction. Never mind his self-indulgence, he needed to be sure they wouldn't get involved in anything so asinine again. They really were quite valuable operatives, ones he'd hate to lose to a Dragon's wrath.

"So, Marina, Diane. I understand you two took on a rather interesting assignment recently, something a bit different from your usual, at least in some aspects. With all your other assignments, I'm surprised you found the time. Well, perhaps you had in mind that old saying, "a change is as good as a rest." Did you find it so? Come, tell me all about it. I'm sure I'll find it fascinating!"

He watched with polite interest as they stumbled through an exceedingly awkward explanation of the rather unusual assignment they'd taken on at the behest of Jennings and Sawyer.

"Ah, yes. Jennings and Sawyer; such good friends, though I understand they have parted ways for now. I believe Jennings is at one of the more remote training posts. Well, you could actually call it rather isolated; isolated and rather chilly. Sawyer, as I understand it, is headed someplace rather different with quite a different climate. Unfortunately, I doubt he will find it any more enjoyable. Still, the war and all, most inconvenient for everyone, of course."

"Still, I heard they made it possible for the Dragon to give a few training lessons to the new recruits; I'm sure that was quite beneficial, what with her wide experience. I've made a note to see if the Dragon mightn't make a visit to both of their new posts, perhaps get in a little training of her own that they might participate in. They might find it quite the experience, don't you think? Of course, I should make sure she is fully briefed as to the details of her assignment; would hate to surprise her. She does SO hate surprises."

His pleasant face was amazingly bland, certainly nothing that would have caused those already pale faces to become an even more intense shade of pale.

Charles, their waiter, approached quietly, looking at their plates, glasses with professional appraisal. "Did you not find your meal satisfactory, ladies? Should I bring you something else?" noting their plates had been relatively untouched, while Major Richards had been eating his meal with more than a little relish.

Richards looked surprised, glanced at his guests, their plates as if he'd just noticed. "Ah, I must apologize, ladies! I was so absorbed in our conversation I didn't realize! Certainly, if you would prefer Charles bring you something else . . ." Their hasty denials brought another offer, "then perhaps a drink? They serve a tolerable whiskey, you know."

Charles tried not to look appalled at the Major's offering two young women strong drink at lunch, had to struggle even harder not to react with both women quickly agreed that a whiskey would be just the thing to settle their unaccountably uneasy stomachs. Charles nodded, whisked away their plates,{"well, there's those working in the kitchen who'll be more than pleased to finish this off! It certainly can't be let to go to waste! I don't think they took even a bite."}.

Marina and Diane weren't lacking in intelligence or in courage. Well, they couldn't have been, not with the work they did, no matter how ill-judged it had been for them to accept their orders from Sawyer and Jennings without approaching someone in Special Forces or Special Ops first for confirmation.

It was Marina who finally took a deep breath and asked, "how far did we step in it, Major? We like our jobs, we're good at our jobs, no matter how this last little episode makes it look. Are we going to be riding the sidelines from now on?"

Richards nodded his approval, glad to see they understood, at least to some extent, just where they stood. "You obeyed the wrong orders; you've been trained that if the orders sound terribly off-base, you are to double-check them with the appropriate organization Handler. You screwed up, ladies. However, I've been assured by the Dragon that the three of you had a conversation, you understand things a bit better now, and that there isn't likely to be a repetition of the unfortunate incident. No, you won't be riding the sidelines; no, there will be no official reprimand or any official action. No, you don't need to be looking over your shoulder. If I were you, though, I think I'd avoid Brandonshire, Lieutenant Garrison and his men, along with the Dragon and her sisters, oh, for perhaps the next hundred years or so. And I wouldn't expect her to be naming her first-born daughter after either of you. I believe you would be sadly disappointed in that regard. And, of course, if you should even think to approach any of those she considers 'hers', well . . ."

He signed for the total, politely escorted them back to HQ before he headed down to Brandonshire and the Mansion to check to see how things were playing out there. He sighed as he pulled out onto the main thoroughfare. {"Quite a satisfactory luncheon. I must complement Charles when I see him next. Well, at least I enjoyed MY lunch; it appears the ladies didn't much fancy crow, no matter how delicately served."}

Weeks later:

It was late, the flat was dark with blackout shades firmly in place. They were used to that, could pour a drink without spilling a drop just by the click of the bottleneck against the glass. Amazing the skills you learned in wartime.

Still Marina felt the trickle of liquid on her fingers as the whiskey sloshed over the edge. Not a failing of vision, nor of memory or instinct. No, just the trembling left from the meeting in the hallway as they'd left HQ, her and Diane coming around that corner and meeting the Dragon, Garrison and his men flowing around her like a jewelry-setting clasping a rare gemstone. There were no words spoken, only the looks, ranging from stony cold from Chief, to bitter and snarly from Goniff, to cold anger from Casino, to steady warning from Actor. The look from the Dragon was indefinable, and probably just as well so. Most surprising, the look from Garrison, with its promise of swift retaliation at the slightest misstep or the wrong word.

Diane took her drink in one long gulp, before reaching to refill her glass. "Ever consider, just what we barged in to? Did you see them today, Marina? It was like there were shimmery little lines drawn, in the air, invisible but still visible. Lines I don't understand, lines that make no sense to me." At one time she'd not have been able to even see those lines, but after all this time of working with Marina, being with Marina, she'd gotten better at it. Interpreting them, though, she left that to Marina. She was the one with Gypsy blood, Gypsy talent.

Marina shuddered, pouring herself another drink. "I saw them. The Dragon and Goniff, big thick red lines connecting them. The same sort of lines that connected Garrison and Goniff. Those thin blue lines connecting the Dragon and Garrison. Bold green lines connecting Chief and Casino. Only Actor didn't have any of those, but he had the thin brown lines joining him to each of the others, and the others to him and each other. Colorful as hell, Diane; scary as hell. I would never have agreed to that assignment if I'd seen them all together like that beforehand. I can't believe I didn't see all that before, but maybe it took her presence for us to see what truly exists between them all. Garrison must have thought we were out of our minds! And as for her! Talk about trespassing on her territory! How unbearably stupid!"

"What did it all mean, Marina?" Diane asked in a whisper.

"I'm not sure you want to know, my dear. Just promise me, never step in between them, ANY of them, no matter who urges you to do so. Even the thin brown lines are more of a connection than even a fool should try and disrupt. The others? Might as well put a gun to your own head. It would be a quicker and cleaner death than the other would bring."

Diane's voice was hesitant, now. "Marina, those thick red lines, they looked a lot . . ."

"Yes, they did, didn't they," Marina said, finishing her drink with a gulp.

"Come along, it's getting late; time to turn in. We've an early departure in the morning," watching in the darkness as the thick red line that connected her to Diane held strong and true. No, she had no intention of interferring with Garrison and his team and the Dragon. She understood far too well. She, they had far too much to lose.


End file.
